Quoted By:
>Logistics
"...I'll take the mantis, of course, since Branwen gave it to me. And my sword, and the bomb, and— I have a rucksack, so I can store things in there." There's something cold around your neck that you'll take along, too, but you won't mention it to Gil. "And you ought to take your new pistol, plus all the siphons, since you <span class="mu-i">did</span> make them. And your new, um, thingy! We need to install your thingy!"
"My what?"
"The thingy you got from Horse Face." You make a circle with your hand. "The part? The String-Extendertron 2000?"
Gil exhales. "The refractor? Hah. Um, yeah, i-i-it'd be nice to get that installed. Though I think we'd have to do that in a loc— in a manse."
"Okay!" you say. "Sounds good! Whose?"
"...Right now?"
"Is there another time, Gil? We shouldn't dawdle. What if there's technical difficulties? And— you need to hide out in my manse, anyways, so I can smuggle you inside. That's how we're doing it? I smuggle you inside? I don't see any other way to do it, so—"
"Sure. I-I'm used to it. But, um... you're not burnt out on manses at all? I-It's been sort of a long day, and—"
"Longer for you," you say. "I've been fine! You've been— you've been kidnap-sorbed, and you got an entire new body, and you have a <span class="mu-i">guy</span> there— is Teddy <span class="mu-i">still</span> there?"
"He doesn't talk that much," Gil says defensively. "He's okay watching."
"He's watching! That's creepy. Can he hear this? That's creepy."
"Lottie, Richard is— <span class="mu-i">Richard</span> is watching all the time, and I don't say shit, okay? I-I-I mean, he isn't right now, but he was the entire rest of the time we... so forget about Teddy. I-I was just thinking that, you know, a lot of people have issues with staying too long in manses. Like, they need to recharge, sort of. But i-if you don't think it's a problem, then, um..."
"Maybe that's a problem for <span class="mu-i">some</span> people. But I am of a superior make, obviously, so there's nothing to worry about. Whose manse?"
"...Mine? Yours i-i-is still sort of, um, scary. Sorry."
You'd be offended, except for the fact that he's right. "Okay."
"Okay," Gil says, and turns toward you. "I-I don't know how you want to do this, but—"
How you do this: by looking down into him, like you're communing, but it's more two-way than that, more of a push-and-pull than a push-push-push. As your vision crowds in, you feel a hand on your back, and it could be Gil's real hand; more likely it isn't. More likely it's only the sense of a hand on your back, ushering you in, not pushily, but warmly and steadily; one hand on your back, and another holding open a door. You are happy to enter, happier still to find yourself prone and damp amongst clover and meadowsweet and lush floppy blades of grass. It's no wonder people have issues staying too long in manses. How could they ever leave?
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